


A Very Potter Birthday

by thisroadsofar



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean's Birthday, Gen, Kid Dean Winchester, Kid Sam Winchester, Kid Winchesters (Supernatural)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-24
Updated: 2018-01-24
Packaged: 2019-03-09 00:08:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13469526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisroadsofar/pseuds/thisroadsofar
Summary: Dean's birthday, 1990.





	A Very Potter Birthday

It was whatever.

They were staying at Uncle Bobby's because his dad had anticipated the hunt taking more than a few days. Bobby had been called away to assist a fellow hunter earlier in the day, promising that he'd try his best to make it back by tomorrow, and he was usually pretty good on this word. But Dean wasn't naive enough to hold his breath waiting for him to get back; he knew first-hand how most hunts almost never followed a set schedule.

Dean understood.

Sam was mad at their dad. The seven-year-old had the attitude of a teenager. He didn't know what their dad actually did, so Dean couldn't really blame him. Sam just thought Dad liked to drop them off at Bobby's sometimes because he "sold stuff," an explanation that neither satiated nor placated his quest for more information about what Dad did. So by default, Sam was now mad at Dean, or at the very least frustrated, and had avoided him all night. It wasn't Sam's fault. He was just a kid, and Dean knew Sam would try to make it up to him as much as he could tomorrow.

But still.

It's not like Dean expected his Dad to be there anyway. He was busy hunting whatever was terrorizing Windom, Minnesota. He'd mentioned over the phone a few days ago something about desecrated graves, his best bet being ghouls or something similar. He'd probably be back sometime next week.

That was more important, of course. Dean understood. Saving people by hunting down the things that went bump in the night. That had priority.

So why did he feel so bitter?

He glanced up at the clock in Bobby's living room. Sam was asleep in the makeshift bedroom upstairs. The time read 11:59. Dean picked up his silver lighter that he'd laid next to him on the couch, flicking it open and staring as the flame flickered before him.

The clock ticked another minute. It was 12am, January 24, 1990.

"Happy birthday, Dean," the eleven-year-old said to himself before blowing out the flame.


End file.
